


Grounded

by f4k34cc0un7



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trapped in your own Mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28606344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f4k34cc0un7/pseuds/f4k34cc0un7
Summary: Wyatt Quitter wakes up from a nightmare. Wyatt Pothos helps calm them back down.
Relationships: Wyatt Pothos/Wyatt Quitter
Kudos: 1





	Grounded

I stand at the plate, bat in hand, hammering at the inside of my mind to just stop, to drop the bat, to walk away, to do anything else, and I watch as a will that isn't mine swings and hits a single. I watch as my own expressionless face stares back as our crestfallen opponents are led off the field, defeated even in triumph. I slam my soul against the cage of my skull and scream to be let out as fourteen blue flames ascend to the field. Even as I see the flames shatter my jailer, I can feel nothing but dread that somehow this will be worse. I fall. 

I am falling. 

I am falling. 

I am falling. 

My throat is hoarse from the screaming.

A voice brings me back to reality.

“Quitter! Quitter! Taiga! I'm here, I'm here, you're not alone, you're here, I'm here, we're here together, it's okay.”

The repetition and her soft words lift me out of my nightmare. I'm sitting up in bed, covered in cold sweat, throat raw, every muscle tense. She holds me, gently rubbing my back as she holds me in her arms, reminding me of her presence with every word and every breath and every touch.

I turn and hold her, our arms tightening across our backs. 

Even in the dim light, I can see her. Her eyes. Her hair. Her back. Her shoulders. Her nose.

I focus on our touch. Her fingers on my spine. My hands on her shoulders. Her breath on my chest. My nose in her hair.

I listen for her words. The way her breath shakes when she breathes in. The hitch when she says the name only we remember. The timbre of her speech.

I inhale deeply. The smell of her sweat mixed with mine. The distant smell of last morning's shower.

I shuffle down and lock eyes with her. We kiss, briefly, and I focus on the taste of her lips.

I take another deep breath. “Thank you, Wanda. Thank you. I'm here now. I'm here.”

She hides the shimmer in her eyes by holding me close again. I bury myself in the feeling of her, and listen to the beat of her heart as I curl up in her arms. I can hear two words in the pulse, clear as day.

“I'm here.”

“I'm here.”

“I'm here.”


End file.
